


With Respect and No Regrets

by blackidyll



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/M, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackidyll/pseuds/blackidyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The transition to a post-Kaiju world will be a long one, and we still have plenty of battles left to fight. Are you staying with us?” </p><p>Mako’s head snaps up. The question had never even occurred to her, and she struggles with all the possible responses – with shock, with indignation, and no small amount of distress – before simply saying, “Yes.” And then she asks, “Why do you think I wouldn’t?” </p><p>“Because there’s a world out there,” Herc says. “Because it been barely three days since so many of our fellow Rangers have died. Because we – you – now have a future without the blight of the Kaiju cast over it.”  </p><p> </p><p>Mako Mori contemplates life without Kaiju attacks, the hum of a powered-up Jaegar or the steady presence of Marshal Pentecost. </p><p>(There are still nightmares, plenty of paperwork and one Raleigh Becket, however).</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Respect and No Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote 90% of this back in August after watching the movie. The last 10% took me six months to get out. 
> 
> Mako with her silent, graceful strength and ferocity is my absolute favorite. I hope this story does her character justice. Enjoy!

**the aftermath**

When Mako awakens, it’s to the cool dimness of the medical bay.

She knows she has been dreaming from the way her heart races, although her breathing is soft, steady. The dream flees faster the further she wakes up, and when she reaches for the memories all she gets are flashes of quick, ever moving shadows and a remembered heaviness in her arms and legs, pressing against her chest. When she braces her hands and elbows against the mattress to shift into a sitting position, however, her limbs move easily and the impressions disperse all together.

A quiet sound – soft knocks, deliberate and distinct – draws Mako’s attention.

“Good evening, Miss Mori,” the medic says from the door. “Your partner is in the next room.”

Mako draws herself fully upright, turning to stare at the tinted glass covering half of the wall. The medic taps in a code on the side panel and the glass shifts, turning transparent, and Mako looks into a room mirroring her own, complete with one Raleigh Becket lying prone on his bed.

He looks—all right. Not well, not with all the medical machinery around him, but at least the only item he’s still hooked up to is an IV-drip; there’s the slight prick of a needle embedded in the back of Mako’s hand, so she too had been linked to one not too long ago herself. That observation is reassuring, and her shoulders relax.

The medic smiles and comes further into the room. “Rangers injured in action can get a bit panicky when they wake up in Medical and can’t find their crewmate. You were with Mr. Becket when we got you out of the Pacific, but that—” she blows out a sigh that manages to carry tinges of incredulity “—had been one hell of a day. Best to take some precautions.”

“I wasn’t panicking,” Mako says, honest as always, and shifts to press her feet against the floor. “But thank you; it’s thoughtful of you.”

Bemused, the medic flicks on her tablet. “Nightmares, then? I’m not surprised.”

Are they nightmares? Mako can’t remember any specifics but there’s a distinct sense of unease in her heart, although whether it’s from the dreams or from everything else is anyone’s guess.

“Perhaps,” she says.

The moment feels surreal even when the medic turns on the bedside lighting to check her vitals, and Mako follows her instructions mechanically, only hissing once when the medic tests her range of movements and extending her left arm above chest-height makes her shoulder flare in pain.

“Yes, you both wrenched that one in the conn-pod,” the medic says, making a note on her tablet, “and Mr. Becket went and damaged that arm some more by tearing about a Jaegar thirty seconds away from self-destruction. Your stats look good, however. Don’t strain that shoulder and let me schedule a follow up for you first, and then you’re free to go.”

Mako has suffered worse during intensive Jaegar Academy training, at least physically. The mental strain of piloting a Jeagar is something else altogether, however, and although she finds her feet easily she can’t seem to pull her gaze away from the glass separating Raleigh’s medical room from hers.

“I should—”

“You can come back,” the medic says in a steady, inarguable voice that speaks of years of dealing with stubborn Rangers. “But he’ll be out for at least another day, and you won’t do much for him just sitting here. Go back to your room, take a shower, get a change of clothes. Eat something. Sleep some more. You’ll feel better for it.”

“And what about Rangers panicking when they can’t find their crewmates?”  

The medic laughs. “I’ll admit, I walked into that one. But he’s a Ranger with a good four years of active service under his belt, and I do need this bed for someone else.” Her expression sobers. “You won’t sense it much here in Medical, but the Shatterdome is a changed place after what you Rangers have done. You have a lot to think about, Miss Mori.”

She steers Mako away from the wall and Raleigh with a light but firm hand, and gives Mako’s uninjured shoulder a slight squeeze when they reach the door. “Come back any time you feel you need to, all right?”

\---

Mako truly intends to return to her room, but the medic’s words catch at something in her and so she takes the long route back.

It’s quiet in the way the Shatterdome rarely is, even in the dead of night as it is now, and Mako barely passes anyone along the way. Only concentrated spots of light dot the main hangar when she slips in, intending to cut across the empty space to the other side of the Shatterdome, and she’s squinting around in the darkness when, with a jolt of her heart, she catches sight of the War Clock.

It is one thing to know intellectually that it would have been set to zero with no further Kaiju threats in the foreseeable future, and it’s another thing entirely to see it there, frozen at a perfect 00:00:00:00. Half of Mako still expects the columns to begin flipping, resetting itself to yet another countdown to a calculated Kaiju sighting, and she doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until she grows light-headed. Gasping in a breath forces her gaze away from the clock, and she glances around the hangar with a dawning realization of what truly has happened.

They destroyed the interstice bridge between the anteverse and their own. Raleigh told her as much before the extraction team forced an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, but it hadn’t truly sunk in, what they did.

What they accomplished.

Mako takes a step back and then another, and when she pivots, her body falls into a steady gait, the familiar rhythmic run that all trainees do twice a day to build and maintain their stamina. It’s a meditative exercise with her mind filled with her breathing, in and out, in and out, and she lets her feet take her where they will.

They take her, unsurprisingly, to LOCCENT mission control.

The lights here are shut off as well, but the room is faintly lit up by the monitors, still tracking disturbances and seismic activity across the globe, lines of data streaming faster than Mako can read them. There’s a dark shadow in the command seat, and despite herself Mako feels her heart leap.

Before she can speak to an impossibility, the figure leans forward and Herc Hansen says, “Mako. I’m glad to see you’re up.”

The sudden sharp sting of loss takes Mako’s breath away.

“Where is everyone?” she says, and manages to keep her voice steady.

Herc gestures towards the observation window looking down onto the main hangar. “The Shatterdome has been under immense strain, so I gave everyone leave; skeleton crew only. They deserve a chance to rest, to celebrate.”

Suddenly it isn’t hard to push her emotions into a tight little ball deep in her heart, cautious hope rising to take its place instead. “So, the Kaiju activity level…”

Herc quirks a small smile that is still visible despite the lack of light. “Still can’t believe it?” He slides his hands above the workstation and pulls forward a digital representation of the earth, glowing beautifully in the dark. “Take a look.”

The current timestamp above the globe declares it more than two days after the final assault, and Herc sets the recording to a week prior. They watch the flare of red that signifies a Kaiju landing, watch the single Kaiju attack the Wei brothers fend off before Raleigh’s arrival, then the first double-Kaiju attack, and finally, the triple attack. And then—

Nothing. Mako spins the globe around, even checking the other oceans for red flares, but no. The sphere of the earth remains as it is, untouched and unmarred, as the timer runs forward by until they hit current time.

Herc flicks the globe away, and in its place is the familiar interstice bridge linking their world with the Kaiju one. As Mako watches, the blinking circle that must be Gipsy Danger drops in and then flares out. The bridge collapses.

“ _We won_ ,” Mako says, her voice quiet and reverent, and it sounds terribly childish, those two words, but it’s all she can muster up at that moment. Herc shoots her a quizzical look, and she realizes it came out in Japanese.

“We really did it,” she says again in English.

“Yes, we did.” There is a short pause, and then Herc chuckles. “Good thing too, with only three active Rangers and no active Jeagars between us.” He pulls up the globe again with such ease and brevity of movement that Mako knows he’s been doing this over and over again.

Something warm and damp noses against Mako’s hand, and she glances down at Max, the bulldog moving so quietly to her side that she hadn’t noticed him in the dark. He licks at her hand again, staring up at her, the reflected glow of the monitors casting a sheen of light across his dark eyes.

“Hi Max,” she whispers, and drops to one knee to scratch at the bulldog’s ears. Max’s tongue rolls out but he’s subdued today, barely wiggling to beg for more scratches when normally he would be slobbering all over her jumpsuit in his enthusiasm. Impulsively, she throws her arms around him, ignoring the twinge of pain in her shoulder, and the bulldog just sits there, leaning against her and pawing restlessly at the floor.

It isn’t long before he’s pulling free, padding across the room and butting his head against Herc’s leg until the man drops a hand across his ruff. The bulldog leans his head on Herc’s thigh and, absentmindedly, Herc begins scratching at his ears.

Mako rises to her feet. She’s covered in dog hairs now, but she’s never minded and she certainly isn’t going to start now.

“News and footage of Hong Kong’s multiple attacks have spread like wildfire,” Herc says without preamble, “We’ll need to convince the world and its fractious governments that our utterly mad plan has succeeded. The transition to a post-Kaiju world will be a long one, and we still have plenty of battles left to fight. Are you staying with us?”

Mako’s head snaps up. The question had never even occurred to her, and she struggles with all the possible responses – with shock, with indignation, and no small amount of distress – before simply saying, “Yes.” And then she asks, “Why do you think I wouldn’t?” because even though she’ll fight tooth and nail to stay, she still needs to know that they actually want her there.

“Because there’s a world out there,” Herc says. “Because it been barely three days since so many of our fellow Rangers have died. Because we – you – now have a future without the blight of the Kaiju cast over it.” 

Herc is no Marshal Pentecost, but his gaze contains the same steely determination and conviction Mako’s adoptive father possessed, and Mako feels her spine straighten under that attention, her shoulders squaring. She meets Herc’s eyes steadily.

“Stacker was your mentor,” Herc says, and although his tone is gentler, his uncompromising use of the past tense makes Mako’s hands ball into fists, fingernails biting into her skin. 

She nods. “He was my teacher,” she says softly, “and he raised me.”

Herc’s face goes utterly unreadable even before he draws back, away from the dim glow from the monitors. Max raises his head, responding to the tension he must feel in Herc’s body, and Herc drags a hand through his hair and lets the silence drag for a long moment before he says, “You’ll still honour his memory whether you stay in the Shatterdome or head out into a brand new world.”

It’s a kindness of a sort, that Herc takes in this revelation with no fanfare, that he simply acknowledges it as matter of fact and then moves right along. She’s lost a father and he a son, and no amount of lamentation will bring them back. 

“I know. I’ll stay.” Mako lifts her head and returns his gesture in turn, with words that mean far more than the sum of their parts. “Thank you for leading the Shatterdome. I will do all that I can to help.”

There’s a long pause, and then Herc blows out a heavy breath. “Glad to have you. We need everybody we can get.”

It doesn’t seem like he needed a response, but it also seemed rude not to say anything. “Sir,” she says quietly.

“Just Herc is fine, Mako,” he says, but something about Mako’s expression must have caught his eye, because he clears his throat and adds, gruffly, “Or whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

It’s in the exact tone of voice Herc uses with Chuck sometimes, and it eases the lines between them, calling to mind the days where she’d passed on updates on Striker Eureka and asked after Max in the same breath, easy and as informal as Mako ever was back then. She has grown up respecting her elders and Herc is the Marshal now, but—

Imagine the weight of the Shatterdome and its entire people on your shoulders. Imagine losing your co-pilot and your son and gaining a loftier title in his stead.

Mako has always liked the Hansens.

“Okay,” she says. “Herc.”

\---

Now that the apocalypse has been cancelled, there is an absolutely nightmare of paperwork to deal with. Marshal Pentecost ran the Hong Kong Shatterdome on a tight leash, with a strict chain of command and divisions dedicated to each aspect of the defence effort, but the last eight months had been gruelling, with dozens of underground dealings for funding and resources and the fact that no one really cared about maintaining records when the apocalypse was nigh.

Mako receives a message from Medical shortly after she heads out with a helicopter team to try to trawl parts of Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon out of the Victoria Harbour, and when she returns Herc meets her at the landing bay and sends her off to formally hire Raleigh Becket back into the PPDC.

“This is pretty ridiculous,” is what Raleigh says the first time they see each other conscious after the extraction team fishes them out of the Pacific and whisks them straight into Medical.

Mako’s steps falter for half a second before training and a lifetime of steeling herself kicks in, and she crosses the room with her laptop tucked close, eyes tracking the room – emergency escape hatch, clear exit path, comms dock – before she meets Raleigh’s gaze firmly.

The lopsided smile takes her by surprise. It’s soft and welcoming, as if inviting her into a shared joke, with a slight touch of chagrin like—

 _Oh_.

“Hey,” Raleigh says easily. “You look good. I know we both took a real beating even inside those drivesuits of ours.” He waves a bandaged hand in her direction, winces, then gestures at her arm questioningly.

“I’m fine now. I’m glad you’ve recovered as well,” Mako tells him, and there is no trace of uncertainty in her voice. She still has all her clearances from before, and medical files made up a nice bulk of the profile she’d compiled on Raleigh. Hooking a foot around the chair to pull it free – Mako frowns down at it for a second because it seems impolite and quite unlike her, but her hands _are_ tied up – she sets down the laptop and the personnel folder before taking a seat, graceful.

“You had far greater injuries and suffered from oxygen deprivation longer than I did—” she slides the folder across “—which is why it’s fortunate the PPDC offers extensive health benefits and hazard pay on top of a generous salary.”

She smiles serenely at him across the interview table and Raleigh bursts out laughing.

“Point to you.” He bends forward, curling to protect his ribs against further strain as he reaches for the folder. “We fought together, we stopped multiple Kaiju attacks, we survived a nuclear detonation in a dimensional passage enroute to an alien world—and now you’re hiring me. Like I said, that’s pretty ridiculous.”

The smile that steals across Mako’s lips this time is quite involuntary.

“It is,” she says, nodding towards the folder. “Your data will be backdated, and the PPDC will offer you those rates for six months even if you decide to leave. The health benefits are for life, as per precedence.” Her hands are restless as she awakens her laptop. “We aren’t sure if you would want to continue working with the PPDC now that the crisis has been averted, but it isn’t your fault Sensei was too busy to formally complete the paperwork for your return. The least we can do is rectify that until you decide otherwise.”

There’s a knowing glint in Raleigh’s eyes and Mako knows he’s caught the title she used – he’d been in her head, together with her, when she’d called out her final farewell to her adoptive father – but he ducks his head, letting the moment slip away without comment.

“And they send you to do the hiring, huh? Well played, Herc.” Avoiding Mako’s gaze, he flips the folder open the scan the top page, and promptly chokes. “Holy shi—”    

He cuts himself off and rips the page right out of their stack – good thing they keep electronic copies of everything, Mako thinks wryly – to study it closer. “Mako. You sure you guys got the numbers right?”

“Yes.”

“So how are we affording this?” Raleigh asks, dropping the sheet and peering at the rest of the paperwork. “Last I heard we were the ‘resistance’—” he makes little air quotes with his uninjured hand without glancing away from the forms “—and not exactly rolling in money here.”

“The Pacific governments have proven very cooperative after Hong Kong’s attacks,” Mako says flatly. She has mixed feelings about it – Herc does as well, if the expression he wears when the cameras are switched off is any indication – but none of them will turn away gifts delivered right to their doorstep, pride entirely secondary to necessity. “I think Dr. Newton also brokered quite a deal with Mr. Chau, one of Sensei’s underground contacts. His organization is helping with the cleanup effort as well.”

Those Kaiju carcasses have to go somewhere. Perhaps Mako’s morals have always been a little grey, because she’d quite fervently, if quietly, agreed with Sensei’s decision even as others balked at the thought of dealing with the black market.

The restoration of the Jaegars had been paramount, back then.  

“Right.” Raleigh drags a hand through his hair. “Man, unfair. Definitely another point to you. I thought we were supposed to be well-matched? I’m sitting at 2-0 right now.”

“The PPDC’s the one that’s hiring you and funding your pay,” Mako says, starting to feel slightly lost in the conversation. All their conversations outside the conn-pod have been like this, she realizes, with Raleigh turning her world on its axis and pushing her above and beyond her limits. 

“Great. I still have a chance to even the score.”

“So, you’ll sign?” she asks, trying to wrest back control of the situation.

From the footage Mako has seen of Raleigh and his brother and from what she’s witnessed while drifting, Raleigh’s face is normally quite expressive, all quirks of the mouth and eyebrows and his emotions blazing in his eyes. She isn’t sure what to make of the very neutral look he’s currently wearing.

“We’re crewmates. You’re staying, so I’m staying…” he trails off, and then his eyes snap to hers. “Does your file say the same thing my file says?”

Mako stares at him for a long moment. “No.”

“Why not?” he demands, grabbing the sheet and waving it in her direction.

Her eyebrows go up despite herself. “You’re a returning Ranger from the Anchorage Shatterdome, while I have been in the Hong Kong Shatterdome for most of my career.” She eyes him, and can’t help adding, “And we’re of different ages, sex, nationalities and have vastly different medical histories.”  

The sudden grin makes Raleigh look boyish and terribly mischievous all at once. “Not quite what I meant. Say, they forgot the paperwork for you as well, didn’t they?”

Mako tilts her head. “I don’t think we’ve finalized the structure for the new PPDC.”

“Miss Mako Mori, you’re an active Jaegar Ranger now, and that supersedes any other position you hold.” Raleigh considers that statement, then adds, “unless you’re the Marshal of a Shatterdome, I guess. Point is, crewmates get the same pay and benefits. Budge over—”

He’s up and dragging his chair over before Mako can protest, the legs of the chair screeching across the metal flooring. He nudges at her foot with the toe of his boot until she shifts, and Mako has to resist the urge to trip him to the ground – convalescing patient, she reminds herself. When he settles into place beside her, however, the silence that falls is oddly charged until Raleigh shoots her a look that’s already familiar for all that Mako’s only seen it twice.

It’s both a quick check and an appeal, with _hey, all right?_ and _in this with me?_ and _ready?_ all rolled together, and both times Mako had nodded her answer even though they’d been in each other’s heads in the Drift and he could read her response right off her mind.

She nods at him again this time, and Raleigh smiles back at her.

“So. Wanna pull up your file?”

Mako drags the laptop protectively to her side of the table, out of Raleigh’s reach. “Why?”

Raleigh doesn’t push; he just studies her with that steady gaze of his. “Hey, I know we’re partners and all, but I’m your senior in this whole Ranger business, so… I’m asking. Follow my lead in this, okay?”

And that’s the question that crumbles Mako’s protests. Raleigh is nothing but honest, and maybe he doesn’t hear the sentiment embedded in his own words, but Mako does.

_Do you trust me?_

Silently, she minimizes Raleigh’s files and pulls up her own before pushing the laptop in Raleigh’s direction. He clicks his way somewhat awkwardly to her core profile details, then pokes at a few options experimentally, making a small noise of triumph when the page changes to editable fields. 

“Why am I not surprised that you have editing authority on your own file?”

“My reporting officer still has to approve the changes,” Mako points out.

“And that’ll be Herc now.” Raleigh pushes the laptop back toward her and snags the sheet again, smoothing out the wrinkles with the back of his bandaged hand. “My arm’s still pretty busted and I’ll type like a very slow chicken—” he makes a vague pecking motion “—so I’ll read out the modifications and you can make them, okay? That way you get to see exactly what changes, too.”

“Raleigh—”

“You’re my partner and Gipsy’s Ranger. That doesn’t change just because she’s gone. Besides,” Raleigh’s voice goes from serious to teasing between breaths, although he’s still watching her carefully, “you’re just updating your profile with what someone else is going to do in like, two months when they finally remember. Or, how about this?” His face brightens again. “Put down whatever numbers you want, and copy the same into my file. Herc will reject our request if he thinks something is off anyway.”

He leans forward, his expression earnest, and Mako tries to remember if she’s ever seen Raleigh so animated before.

Just in memories that aren’t her own, she concludes.

As a Jeagar Academy graduate, there is a field in Mako’s profile for the name of her Jeagar and her crewmate, if she is ever found compatible with one. Filling out that field has always been a lifelong dream of hers, and working on Gipsy Danger’s restoration had only fuelled her longing for it. 

The idea that it would make Raleigh happy as well certainly doesn’t hurt. 

“Point to you,” she says quietly, and Raleigh’s face just absolutely lights up at that.

Mako has ducks her head and concentrate hard on her laptop to will away the slight flush rising in her cheeks.

 

 

 

**the interlude**

An ocean of paperwork surrounds Mako, cascading off the mobile workstation onto the floor. She isn’t normally so messy – a cluttered environment makes for a cluttered mind – but she hadn’t slept well the past several nights and her head throbs, both from a lack of sleep and from straining her eyes on the tiny print of the reports.

Her dreams lately have been disquieting, waking her up in the middle of the night or leaving her unable to fall back asleep if she awakens too close to dawn. She hesitates to call them nightmares because she never feels fearful or panicked in them, but they are puzzling and she never knows what to make of them. That they don’t interfere much with her day-to-day life is the only reason Mako doesn’t tell the medics.

If they are trying to tell her something Mako doesn’t know what it is, except that maybe she should sleep instead of trying to power through her headache; ironically, the dreams become more unsettling the more exhausted she is.

That’s where Raleigh finds her, half crouched on the smooth hangar floor with half a stack of paperwork in her arms, reaching for one loose sheet.

“It’s after midnight, Mako.” He crouches across from her and begins gathering a stack of his own. “You should be asleep.”

“I could say the same to you,” Mako shoots back, although she can feel her heart lightening with his presence. They haven’t seen much of each other, not with Mako heading the restoration team for Crimson Typhoon – there’s a parallel tech team working on Cherno Alpha – and Raleigh busy in the Jeagar Academy, and Mako hadn’t consciously felt the lingering absence until he appeared in front of her.

“Yeah, well, I missed you,” Raleigh echoes her thoughts.

Mako darts him a startled look. There are words caught in her throat, a fight between a startled _how did you know_ and a simple _I did, as well_ , but she stays silent for a moment too long and Raleigh grins easily, shaking his head once at her. They both rise to their feet, and Mako glances automatically up at the shadowy figures of the Jeagars towering over them, impressive even in their damaged state.

"You’re always staring at the Jaegars," Raleigh says.  

Mako smiles for one moment, because even now she finds the sight of the Jaegars soothing.

"I grew up in a Shatterdome," she says, taking Raleigh’s pile of papers from him and stacks them neatly on the workstation; she’ll sort them out into their respective folders later.

Another silence falls between them, and Mako shouldn’t break it. It’s late, they’re tired – Mako can tell from Raleigh’s posture – and Mako has never been one for gossip. But her voice betrays her once again, this time by saying, “You heard the news.”

“Yeah.” Raleigh locks his gaze on the Jeagars himself now. “Herc wants to commission the construction of a new Jeagar.”

The news should make Mako happy. She loves the Jeagars, loves the intricacy and nuance of Jeagar technology and compatibility and knows that to her they will always be symbols of strength and honour and hope. But—

“It’s a bit worrying, isn’t it?” Raleigh says, “That we’re building up our defences ‘just in case,’ even though it makes tactical sense?”

“And if we aren’t fighting Kaiju, what would we be fighting?” Mako adds softly, and Raleigh follows up the thought with “but Herc won’t let them. The Marshal never let the governments interfere, and Herc definitely won’t—”

“And so they meant for restoration and rescue efforts, until the day the world requires more of them.” Mako nods; she and Raleigh, she suspects, are the first to hear of the decision and directly from Herc, and although Mako can’t find a valid reason to argue otherwise, it’s still…

Well. Unsettling.

Perhaps her dreams do echo facets of her life after all.

“Who do you think they’ll give her to?”

Mako tells herself sternly not to fidget – she’s trained for too long and dreamt too constantly for a Jeagar of her own for her not to wish for it now, even if half her heart still whispers that they don’t _need_ Jeagars now; that planning for the worst case scenario might make it come true after all.

She blows out a careful breath. “Whoever they are, I hope they pilot her well.”

Raleigh’s arm bumps up against her shoulder, a quick brush of contact. “Yeah.” He doesn’t seem inclined to add anything to her statement, and so Mako takes the time to imagine the new Jeagar, even though the techs will no doubt surprise her.

They always do.

By the time she thinks to glance over, Raleigh is already studying her with a critical eye.

“You look tired.” 

Mako shakes her head. “I don’t feel like sleeping yet.”

It’s at times like these when she misses Sensei with more than the constant ache that she carries in her heart, a sudden swell in the normally still and deep waters of her loss. Just being in his presence was often enough to calm her, as though Mako could absorb the aura of tranquillity and certainty that surrounds Sensei and become hushed and unhurried herself.

The look in Raleigh’s eyes suggests that he understands Mako’s sentiments far too well.

“Well, I’ve always been a nightowl myself.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and pauses, a sudden grin flashing across his face, and look he flicks is half-flippant and half-anticipatory. “Want to come somewhere with me?”

\---

Raleigh's love for towering robotic hunks of machinery apparently started with his love for the smaller but infinitely more maneuverable car.

“Know much about cars?” Raleigh asks her as they speed down the freeway. Mako wraps one hand around the stiff strap of the seat belt and tries not to stare too obviously.

She isn’t terribly knowledgeable with vehicles that aren’t the standard red taxis of Hong Kong or the plain and very solid model she’d taken her license with (and promptly ignored for her work on the Jeagars), but she can tell that Raleigh’s car is very, very nice.

The interior of the car is all smooth dark lines, the low purr of the engine vibrating through Mako as though she’s a conduit for its energy. When she relaxes, her body sinks comfortably into the leather seats, and she slides a hand along the dashboard, her mind familiar with the power and force and the core of a Jeagar but that knowledge not quite translatable to these smaller, sleeker vehicles. Given time to tinker she might come to understand them better, but for now she is content to let the novelty of the unfamiliar wash over her.

The car’s driver, however, is rather familiar to her, and Mako is only too aware that half her contentment is due to the man sitting beside her. Raleigh handles the car with ease, smiling slightly and darting small sideway glances at Mako as the orange glow of streetlamps wash over them in intervals.

“Not really,” Mako finally says when Raleigh’s glances begin lingering. “You should watch the road,” she adds, although she isn’t really worried about that. Raleigh’s hands are steady on the steering wheel and for all that Mako believes he’d be the type to drive the way he lives – impulsive and fearless, pushing limits like he only has today to live – he’s driving at an even pace, carefully maneuvering around the other scant cars on the road when he has to.

Hong Kong hadn’t quite recovered from being ground zero of the final Kaiju assault yet.

“There isn’t exactly a lot of traffic out there,” Raleigh points out, but he dutifully returns his attention to the road and it’s Mako’s turn to peek at him from the corner of her eyes.

It feels sacrilegious to break the comfortable silence, but when Mako finally speaks her voice simply melts into the hum of the engine. “This is nice.”

Raleigh continues staring straight ahead, but the lopsided smile is back. “Feeling a little more relaxed now?”

“Yes.” Mako watches the Hong Kong skyline glittering in the distance; they’ve long pulled away from the busy city center and with only the darkness and their own thoughts for company the drive is strangely soothing. They haven’t passed or seen another car in at least fifteen minutes. “I could even fall asleep here, I think.”

“Yeah?” Raleigh says, catching the last part even if she murmurs the thought to herself. “Want to take a nap?”

“No, I like this.” _You’re with me and I rather stay awake for that_ , she doesn’t add. _You always take me places I never imagined I could or would want to go_.

“You don’t mind staying awake, then?”

“No, I don’t mind.”

“Okay.” They drive on for the next few seconds in peaceable silence before Raleigh drops one hand onto the gear stick, and the grin he shoots her is pure, undiluted mischief. “Then hold on tight.”

The car jumps forward in a sudden burst of speed, the streetlights pulling away from them in faster intervals, and when Raleigh takes the corner Mako feels her whole body pitch to the side as the back wheels sweep out and the tires growl against the drag of the tarmac.

The seatbelt and hug of the leather seat keeps her in safely in place but Mako wouldn’t be able to move anyway, because for all that piloting an actual Jeagar involves greater impacts and infinitely more power and danger she’d had Raleigh at her side, in her mind, grounding her to the task. It was like he said—when they were fully synched, the drift was silent, with only the clarity of their shared thoughts and actions present.

Now, there is the squeal of tires and the ripping growl of the engine, the snap of gears shifting and the sharp laughs of delight Raleigh lets out when he clears a corner neatly and the car leaps forward to his exact command, and when they finally reach a wide highway he executes a complete 180 degree turn, the back wheels sweeping out completely until they’re facing the way they came from, the car halting abruptly.

The sudden silence only makes the rush of blood in Mako’s ears and her leaping heart all the more evident.

“How was that?”

The engine idles and Raleigh’s grin and his eyes are bright under the amber streetlights, and Mako wants to smile with him, but she can’t quite move yet.

“Mako?” Raleigh turns to her, and the glee in his face slips into concern. “Hey, Mako – you okay?"

Taking control of a Jeagar means becoming a force of nature, and gaining the nonchalance of one. With an armor of steel and a nuclear reactor heart and her partner by her side, Mako had felt as indomitable and timeless as the land they stand on.

And now? Now she feels small and vulnerable and painfully human, and utterly, utterly _alive_. 

“ _Mako, take a breath for me, all right?_ ”

Mako gasps and the next intake of breath makes her head spin. She can feel her heart pounding, adrenaline spiking in her veins, and she reaches out to grasp Raleigh’s wrist, a wordless request to give her a moment because she just needs a minute to fully absorb it all.

Something of her wonder and awe must appear on her face because the lines of Raleigh's face relax, and he blows out a careful breath of his own.

“ _That was—_ ” a shiver goes down Mako’s spine, prickling along her skin, but for once it’s not out of fear or tension. She looks up at Raleigh and there’s her body’s reaction coming in belatedly, her smile wide and unbidden. “ _That was exhilarating_.”

Raleigh sits back, grinning again. “ _Yeah. I’m glad you liked it._ Overwhelming, isn't it?” he adds wryly, switching back to English, and Mako realizes with a start that they slid so naturally in and out of languages that she hadn’t even noticed the difference. “In a way that won't melt your brain if you try to do it alone. You keep yourself busy to distract yourself and although you may appear quiet, you’re a Jeagar Ranger. We all know what that means. I thought you might also like drifting – of a different sort."

He slides a hand along the steering wheel in a gentle caress, as if praising his car for a job well done, and Mako feels her heart jolt for an entirely different reason.

For all that she's spent her time watching and studying and creating a half dozen training plans based on the man, Mako doesn't actually know Raleigh as well as she would like.

Yes, she's been in his head. She knows his hopes and loves and dreams and loss like her own shadow. She has felt as he had felt, but—

She knows his favourite colour (ultramarine, warm and dazzling like the sky after a storm), that he stubbornly eats spaghetti-in-a-can even though he hates the texture because Yancy, for some inexplicable reason, loved it (and as time passed, he's even come to enjoy it for its own) and that despite the wrenching loss that will always be a part of Raleigh, drifting and fighting together with Mako had helped push Raleigh past it. There are more memories at the back of her head, just waiting to be coaxed to the surface, and if they had fought together more - Drifted and solidified that bond more - they'd sink into her bones and become part of her, a solid backbone to their partnership.

But shared memories mean nothing if they don’t act upon them. Knowing Raleigh's experiences, _feeling_ them didn't make it any easier for her to talk to him. He adapts too quickly, learns and changes and thinks in ways that throw any extrapolations based on his history back out into conjecture. Mako still doesn't know what to expect of him, except that he will never be what she expected.

That he knows her so very well is another unexpected point.

“Although the Marshal would have had my head if he knew I was risking life and limb in a car instead of in a Jeagar,” Raleigh adds, well used to Mako’s moments of quiet and speaking mostly to put her at ease.

Mako tips her head to one side, contemplative.

Raleigh calls Herc just that, likely because Herc requested it so, but unlike Mako, who reverts automatically back to Herc’s titles when they are not alone, Raleigh continues with just Herc’s name even when receiving official orders or during meetings. And yet he never fails to call Sensei ‘the Marshal’ or ‘Marshal Pentecost.’

 _Respect_ , Mako thinks, and knows that Raleigh picked that up from her.

What has she picked up from him?

“There are no more Kaiju attacks.” Mako fumbles for her seatbelt, the strap sliding back with a whirr. “I think he’ll tell us to live as we want.” She turns to face Raleigh and meets his eyes easily. “I want to try this drifting. Will you guide me through it?”

Raleigh starts, and Mako pushes back the feeling of satisfaction, that she too can still surprise him. A grin quickly replaces the surprise, however, and he pulls the hand break and releases his seatbelt in one smooth movement, as easy as that.  

“You’re on,” he says. 

 

 

 

**the beginning**

Give Mako a high-powered tablet or mobile technology, and – courtesy of a lifetime of practice – she is near capable of working anywhere and everywhere. She appreciates privacy but prefers working out in the relative open with the controlled chaos of the Shatterdome around her, so this time she's picked out a tiny alcove in the support walls, hidden and out of the way and still open to the clang of titanium metal and the chatter of shouted conversation. She has a bird's eye view into the hangar from here, and beyond her is the familiar chrome outline of Crimson Typhoon, battered and damaged but mostly whole.  

They all know where to find her, of course. Mako listens to the cadence of steady footsteps on the metal landing, and then Raleigh is rapping his knuckles against a steel frame to catch her attention, a tablet tucked under his arm. "Hey. Thought you might want to see this."

Mako closes the lid of her laptop and stares at him expectantly. Raleigh stares back, and the silence drags on until she realizes he's waiting on her answer.

"What is it?" she says, and then shifts to the side, indicating the empty space beside her with a slight inclination of her head. Raleigh reads her intentions without words this time, and squeezes into the tiny alcove, curling in on himself to avoid knocking his head into the steel beams above and around them.

Raleigh mutters something about "Asian-sized _everything_ " under his breath, and the unexpected smile that quirks across Mako's lips startles her. She schools her expression, but not before Raleigh catches sight of it; one side of his mouth slides upward like he’s trying to stay serious and failing at it, the amusement seeping into the edges of his expression. He knocks his elbow gently against hers, and then his smile flickers and goes out, his eyes turning sharp and watchful.

Everything goes very calm and very quiet in Mako, and she holds her hands out wordlessly for the tablet.

Raleigh appears conflicted for a single second before he caves. There is no hesitation in his movements when he passes the tablet over, but his voice is low when he says, “Remember our first Drift?” and it’s just enough warning for Mako not to be caught totally off-guard when she looks down at her own tear and dust-streaked face from nine years ago.

It still feels like she’s been kicked in the chest. 

"What is this?" she says, in an entirely different tone now.

“An exposé.”

It’s an article on her and Raleigh and Gipsy Danger, because by now half the world at least knows which Jeager had dealt the final blow in the Kaiju War. Mako knows at once that there must be an inside informant involved because despite the higher quality images of Gipsy Danger there are only grainy images of her and Raleigh, suited up and often in motion, still frames taken from the Shatterdome CCTV footages.

There is no way she or Raleigh would ever pose for any sort of publicity shot, so the publication apparently had to make do.

But the unnamed journalists had done their work well, and in contrast to the flashy but mostly text-based article are two separate sections detailing Mako and Raleigh’s backgrounds, told in photographs and captions. Someone has made the connection between Mako Mori, Gipsy Danger’s new co-pilot, and the little miracle child, the only survivor of the Kaiju attack that devastated Tokyo. Her name was never released despite the symbol the media had created of her story, but there she is now, with her wide eyes and her little blue coat, and as Mako swipes through image after image of herself she registers Raleigh speaking steadily, his head bent towards hers as if trying to catch her attention without startling her.

“Newton has a lot of underground contacts now – or maybe he always had them and they’re just more prominent now – anyway – someone leaked the article and his buddies caught hold of it; it’s supposed to go out both in print and online tomorrow morning. There’s just the one publication but if it goes out—everyone’s gonna scramble for a piece of the story. It’s going to be a media frenzy.”

Mako can’t pull her eyes from an image of her younger self. In it, she’s standing next to a Jeagar Ranger, identified only through the distinctive drivesuit. It’s been cropped from the original photograph so only part of the Ranger is visible – an arm slung protectively over her shoulders, hugging her close to his side – but Mako knows exactly when the photo was taken.

Sensei was required to report news of her rescue to the Tokyo Shatterdome, and when they stepped out of Cayote Tango – Sensei’s Jeagar – the media had been waiting for a glimpse of her. Mako’s main impressions of that moment are the flashbulb brightness of cameras and the solid weight of Sensei’s arm anchoring her to safety.

“Hey.” Raleigh wraps his hands loosely over Mako’s, covering parts of the tablet screen. “Talk to me?”  

“What about Sensei,” Mako says, and feels something igniting in her chest. She’s _angry_ , all of a sudden, and it only makes her voice go calmer and infinitely colder. “What about Chuck and Herc and Striker Eureka, or the Mark-1 pilots? What about Hong Kong’s own Jeager team?”

Raleigh’s head tilts and he blinks at her before his mouth goes up again in an unwilling smile, like he can’t help himself. “I know. It’s beyond unfair that they’ve basically written off the rest of the Shatterdome, but forget about them for a sec. Are you okay?”

His tone is deceptively light, but when Mako meets his eyes they contain the same gravity and steadiness that Mako’s learned to follow – and more importantly, rely on – in Gipsy Danger’s conn-pod. She takes in a deep breath and considers the question. She almost destroyed the hangar the last time she’d confronted this part of her past; it’s a valid one.

“I don’t like it,” she finally says. She hates what this article does, that it takes all her vulnerable sides and exposes it to the world when her loss should be private and shared only with those who understand, those she trusts. But the media of the world are rarely considerate and this time it is what they do not say that strikes her the most. “But its inclusion does not excuse what they have excluded and they—all of them—they deserve to be so much more than a footnote in an article on the ones who survived.”

She glances up at Raleigh. “I’m choosing to be emotional about something I can change.”

An expression Mako can’t quite catch flickers though Raleigh’s face, something surprised and captivated and somehow haunted at the same time. It’s buried under the smile he gives her, surprisingly sincere for what preceded it just moments before, and his hands squeeze hers once before he lets go. Mako tracks his movements instinctively as he steps away from her.

“I’m glad to hear that. Tendo is hunting down our little informant. LOCCENT’s one of the few places that has access to the cameras and he’s pretty pissed that someone got into his systems.”

He paces restlessly now that his attention isn’t focused entirely on her. Mako studies him, and remembers with sudden clarity that hers is more than one life now.

“Raleigh,” she says, and steps directly into his path, forcing him to stop and meet her eyes or risk running her down. “You asked about me – what about you? Are you all right?”

And there’s the flicker of emotion again, lingering this time.

“Not entirely,” Raleigh says, ducking his head a little. “But I’m following your example and I’m trying to be emotional only about the things I can change.”

He reaches out and takes the tablet from Mako, swiping through the article until he comes upon the photo-story of his own history. Mako wants to study the images and to shield Raleigh from them at the same time, because since his death Yancy Becket represents both the best and the worst times of Raleigh’s life.

“I’m mostly over it, you know? It’s this constant ache that’s always at the back of my mind but things pile on top of it and sometimes days go by when I don’t really think about it. But all it takes is just one instant, some unknown trigger and it’s like I’m in the conn-pod and all his fear and pain is in my head all over again.”

He looks up at her and Mako is caught in his gaze – blue, clear and untainted blue, full of conviction.

“So you know what I did?” Raleigh doesn’t wait for her to respond, because Mako wouldn’t, not aloud, and Raleigh knows that and Mako is aware, at some level, that they’re experiencing a ghost-drift, a cross-interference between their thoughts and emotions.

She gazes back at him, and Raleigh says, low, “I came to find my partner.”

\---

Her dream this time is filled with rubble and dust, drifting like motes of fairy light in the still air. Mako spends the entirety of it searching and searching for something infinitely important, and when she wakes up her hand is lifted above her face, fingers outspread as if to shade her eyes.

Mako blows out a breath and tries to push the unsettling feeling from her heart.

This is usually the point where she gets up and immerses herself in the reports and calculations of her work, or into the meditative trance of sparring, except—

Mako has been sleeping on Raleigh’s shoulder and Raleigh’s head is a warm weight against the top of her own. She can’t move without dislodging him and for all that her back hurts and they’re huddled close together for scant warmth she stays still, feeling terribly protective of him. If sleep gives Raleigh solace, then Mako will preserve what she can of it for him.

She’s coasting the edge of semi-consciousness, trying hard not to fall back into her disquieting dreams when she notices that Raleigh has gone unnaturally stiff beside her. Mako slides away, cradling Raleigh’s skull to avoid jolting him, sitting up on her knees to study him.

Raleigh doesn’t move, but his eyelids flicker restlessly as if caught in a nightmare and Mako immediately presses her forehead to his. She doesn’t want to startle him awake by shaking him, and so she leans in and thinks, _Raleigh, wake up_ as calmly as she can, and Raleigh’s eyes blink once, twice, before they open fully, blue eyes meeting hers in an instant.

Mako closes hers and smiles at him. They are still caught in the flow of the ghost drift, it seems.

“Hey.” Raleigh’s voice comes out hoarse, rusty with sleep.

Mako opens her eyes. “Hello.”

Raleigh clears his throat. “Thanks.”

There isn’t much Mako wouldn’t do for Raleigh, but it seems ungracious to tell him that he doesn’t _need_ to thank her, that he would do the same for her. She shifts back, tipping her head back against the steel wall, and leans just the slightest in Raleigh’s direction, their shoulders and elbows brushing.

“I really came here to give you a heads up on that article and to make sure you were okay, you know,” Raleigh says, completely out of the blue. He sits up and their knees knock together, but he doesn’t pull away. “I didn’t come because I remembered how Yancy died and—”

“I know.” Mako touches his knee, curls her fingers into the rough fabric of his work trousers. “You checked that I was all right, but you didn’t say anything. You wouldn’t have told me if I didn’t ask.”

“Probably not,” Raleigh says, honest.

“You were having restless dreams,” she says.

Raleigh runs a hand through his short hair. “Yeah. Thanks for sticking with me.”

“Were they about Yancy?”

Raleigh quirks a crooked smile at her. “After that article? Yep.”

“I dream too. But not about people.” Mako knows what Raleigh thinks before he says it out loud – _not people, but maybe about Kaiju?_ – and she shakes her head. “I don’t think they’re nightmares, but they sometimes feel—“ she searches for a word “—troubling.” 

Raleigh’s hand covers hers on his knee. “When I dream of Yancy, they’re usually of his death. I was pretty out of it earlier, but it’s kind of comforting, actually.”

Mako stares at him, not quite sure what to say, and Raleigh strokes his thumb over her hand, just once.

“Movies and stuff always makes it so corny, but it doesn’t make it any less true. It means I remember him, and if I remember him, he lives on that way.” Raleigh blows out a sigh. “It’s also a reminder that all actions have consequences, and being reckless isn’t the same as being brave.” 

Mako feels her throat close despite herself.

“I’m mostly over it. Yancy’s always been the responsible one, you know? Typical big brother stuff. I’m thinking about the future now,” and here, Raleigh gives Mako a sideway glance the way he had in the conn-pod, and they might not be drifting within Gipsy Danger this time but Mako knows with profound certainty what – and with a blush, _who_ – he means, “And he’d punch me in the shoulder and grumble like a really disgruntled mother hen at me and that just means that he approves.”

“We live our lives in a way that honours their deaths,” Mako says softly, and this time it’s Raleigh who doesn’t need to answer; he relaxes beside her, his hand atop hers warm and no longer rigid with tension.

Mako hates to break that measure of peace, but actions and intuition alone will not do—her next words have to be said aloud, made firm and real.

“Raleigh,” she says, and feels Raleigh go tense again; Mako rarely addresses him by name – it doesn’t seem necessary, the way they can read each other – unless it’s urgent. “The next time you have restless dreams, or if you are ever not all right, please tell me.”  

Raleigh opens his mouth with an automatic protest on his lips, and Mako turns her hand over under Raleigh’s, curls her fingers gently around his.   

“I’m your partner.” It’s not a question—that title, that place in Raleigh’s life is _hers._ “And I want you to.” 

It’s very still and very quiet for a long while; even the unceasing activity in the Shatterdome hangar beyond them sounds muted, a world away. Then Raleigh says, voice low, “I came to find you.”

“Yes. But if you weren’t worried about me, if the article didn’t involve me at all, would you still have come?”

The silence speaks volumes. Raleigh stares at her helplessly, like he can’t bring himself to look away. Mako thinks of all the times he’s glanced in her direction, even in the cenn-pod when they’re in each other’s heads—not to check what she’s doing or because he thinks she’s incompetent, but to make sure she’s okay, to read what she really wants to do from her body language and not just from her subconscious where almost everything is involuntary.

And then she knows exactly what to say.

“I’ll ground you against chaos if you ground me. That’s what we do inside a Jeagar, right?”

Raleigh nods.

“Then we’ll do the same out of it.”

Raleigh nods again, and there’s an understanding behind his eyes now, the awareness that they’ll always guard each other from nightmares.

Mako shakes his hand lightly, wanting to hear his response aloud. “Your answer?” she says, half stern and half teasing, because Raleigh deserves all the care and kindness in the world but sometimes he responds better to authority, to confidence, and Raleigh’s laughter is abrupt and too loud, like it’s caught him by surprise. He can’t seem to stop himself, laughing until he’s breathless, clutching stubbornly onto Mako’s hand when she shifts, trying to check on him. She gives up and just lets him tilt into her, feeling strangely content.  

Mako is perfectly happy to be the pillar of strength Raleigh occasionally needs to lean against.   

“Yes, ma’am,” Raleigh finally says, and the smile on his face is lovely, genuine. “I got you loud and clear.”

Mako smiles back at him, and they sit there in a half-tangled pile just gazing at each other until Raleigh’s expression goes serious, although there are still amused lines around his eyes and mouth. 

“So,” he says, “I’ve got this idea.”

\---

The hangar techs might murder Mako for stealing one of their butane welding flamethrowers – it seems silly, but neither she nor Raleigh have a lighter or a box of matches between them – and Raleigh finds a large, abandoned ceramic pot into which they stuff old paperwork and newspaper and broken furniture and rags soaked in kerosene for kindling, and with heavy gloves and a pair of goggles on Mako lights the entire mass of it aflame, Raleigh grinning widely at her over the varicolored sparks the bits and pieces of scrap metal at the bottom of the pot throw up.

It's a good thing they have an efficient air circulation system in the Shatterdome. Mako powers down the welder and strips away the gloves and goggles, and Raleigh begins adding larger pieces of furniture, table legs and the backs of chairs, the broken beams of a cupboard, splintered into manageable sections.  

He speaks as he moves, his voice a soothing, rolling cadence of ups and downs, the words indistinguishable over the crackle of fire. They've done this often, Yancy and Raleigh, building fires in shelters when they'd been caught out in the Arctic snow, away from the cities with their modern heating and sophisticated technology. As Mako rolls back the sleeves of her jumpsuit she can almost feel the biting chill of a tundra wind, and she lets Raleigh's memory wash over her as she kneels on the smooth hangar floor, folding her legs under her thighs before sitting back in _seiza_ and reaching for her bag.

Time passes in lines and folds, with the soft murmur of Raleigh’s voice and an imagined wind in her ears.

"Hey Yance," she finally hears, and Mako looks up to see Raleigh standing next to her, face ruddy from the heat of the fire crackling merrily away, the centermost logs now broken down into charcoal-grey lumps edged in glowing cherry-red.

Raleigh stares at the fire for a long minute before finally sighing, ducking his head and pulling the chain from around his neck in one move. The chain slips from his fingers until they reach their length, the dogtags jangling together, swaying gently.

"You left a spare set in our room, you know." Raleigh worries at his lip. "I've been carrying it around, but I think it's about time I went back to wearing just my own.

"I'm not gonna toss it in the fire, because we've had enough go up in flames as it is. I'm just letting you know in case you start, you know, bitching at me in my dreams or something."

Raleigh unlinks the dogtag from the chain, separates it from his own, folds it into a handkerchief and pulls the chain back over his head. There's a can of beer sitting on the top of his bag, and Raleigh snaps it open, saluting once with it, then drops to sit beside Mako, taking a long sip before handing the kerchief-wrapped dogtag to her.

Mako takes the bundle with both hands and tucks it securely away in her pocket. She knows she can talk one of the Jeagar techs – Tendo, who knew Yancy personally, after all – into embedding the tiny piece of metal somewhere in the new Jeagar.

Yancy would like that, Mako thinks.

"Your turn," Raleigh murmurs at her, and Mako gathers her creations before rising smoothly to her feet.

The heat radiating from the ceramic pot is intense. Mako walks a careful circle around it to find the safest spot to approach, and when she's close enough the origami flowers go one by one into the flames.

She'd folded as many as she could while Raleigh was occupied, but she keeps the special ones for last. Three lotuses in varying patterns of red and gold for the Wei brothers, a pair of matched yellow and white chamomiles for Sasha and Alexis. For Chuck, she'd folded a bulldog instead, and she sends that into the fire with a small star flower. There are even tiny forget-me-nots in ultramarine blue for Yancy, because he had been a Ranger, too.

The final flower in her hand is a design of her own creation, and Mako pulls out Marshal Pentecost's ever present metal case. She shakes the iodine pills into the flower, then shuts the case and returns it to her pocket.

" _You have no need for these any longer, Sensei_ ," she says, and casts the flower into the flames, the pills going up in plumes of vibrant violet.

When Mako returns to Raleigh's side her eyes are stinging from the fumes, but she doesn't think they're tears in disguise.

"This is strangely tiring and soothing at the same time," Raleigh says. He waits for Mako fold herself beside him, hugging her knees to her chest this time, before tucking an arm around her shoulders, leaning part of his weight on her as she leans into his side in turn.

"Let's buy a new collar for Max,” she says. “Herc hasn't had a lot of free time to walk him lately."

Raleigh blows out a quiet breath. "Yeah. Works for me." 

They watch the fire into the night.

\---

Maybe they're not nightmares. Maybe they've never been nightmares.

There is a wide open field with rolling waves of wheat and long-grained rice, with the sweet gurgle of a swift running stream flowing behind her, icy cold from melted snow and filled with fresh trout and salmon. There is no place on earth with quite that combination, but it feels natural in the way illogical thoughts make perfect sense in the subconscious.

This time, her dream is filled with light, rays of sunshine piercing through cloud cover to illuminate the field around her just like the day Sensei found her in the wrecked ruin of Japan's largest metropolitan city. The air here is clean and the sun warm on her skin, and she tips her head towards the sky.

A warm grip closes around her hand, fingers sliding between hers. Her hand feels incredibly small compared to the one that holds hers, but she grips back, firm and steady. She doesn't need to look back to know who it is.

Mako smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I leave with this quote from Travis Beacham (emphasis mine): 
> 
> “I didn’t know that I had something that I really wanted to write, until I realized these robots are driven by two pilots, and what happens when one of those people dies? What happens to the leftovers? Then it became **a story about loss, moving on after loss, and dealing with survivor’s guilt**. That makes the monsters scarier, because now you care about the people who are in these robots."
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
